


Fit for a God

by DollBones



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Body Image, Borderline Personality Disorder, Eating Disorders, F/M, M/M, Mental Illness, Narcissistic Personality Disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 17:57:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6249787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DollBones/pseuds/DollBones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First It's Always Sunny fanfic that I ever wrote.  It's supposed to take place sometime in Season 10,  the season when Dennis' mental instability really became more apparent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Haven't Even Begun to Peak

Control: that was the name of the game.  Control was what Dennis strove for, in every aspect of his life.  Control over his sexual conquests, control over his friends, and most importantly, control over his body.  A golden god such as himself had to be chiseled to perfection, so it was of the utmost importance that he be vigilant.  Ever since the fourth grade, he had maintained a morning ritual of stripping naked and surveying himself in front of a floor-length mirror.  Before doing anything else, he’d make sure that his evaluation was complete, and its results, satisfactory or unsatisfactory, would determine whether he ate breakfast that day or not.

Dennis hadn’t eaten breakfast for the past five days.  He’d barely eaten anything for the past five days.  Control, he repeated to himself, control is everything, staring at his naked body in the mirror, feeling slightly light-headed.  He stood up straighter, defying his body’s attempt to betray him, and stared harder at himself, his lips contorted in disgust.

Dee was right.  That goddamn bitch.  He  _ did _ look fatter.  He wasn’t able to see it before, before five nights ago when she made the comment to him at dinner, but now it was obvious.  He could see the fat accumulating all over himself, its greasy sheen.  His jaw, which he’d always prided himself on for being sharp as a razor, had gone soft.  His pecs sagged.  His ab muscles had melted into the beginning of a gut, and his thighs were a disgrace.  

Dennis turned and turned in front of the mirror, a cold layer of panic settling inside him.  No, no, no.  This was all wrong, this was horribly wrong.  He felt like weeping.  He couldn’t look this way.  It was completely unacceptable.  What would the gang think of him, their leader Dennis Reynolds, the man of perfect looks and charm, reduced to a fat blob?  He pressed his hands to his stomach, repulsed.  He had to ameliorate this.  The problem, he concluded, was that his previous efforts weren’t strict enough.   _ I have to employ stronger methods,  _ he thought.

 

⃰

It was one o’ clock and Dennis still had not come out of Dee’s room.  Mac was worried.  Dennis’ behavior had been very strange lately, and he knew that he had barely been eating anything.  It frightened him.  This same old routine had occurred in the past, and he hated the idea that Dennis was damaging his body again.

Mac knocked loudly on the door.  “Hey, Dennis, man, are you awake in there?”

Pressing his ear to the door, he could hear the sounds of movement and heavy breathing on the other side.

In a moment, Dennis’ voice, thin and reedy, wheezed, “I’m-I’m awake.”

“Are you alright?”

“Never . . . ugh . . . never felt better . . .”

“Can I come in?” Mac asked.

There was a pause, then Dennis said, “Sure.  Whatever, whatever.  Just give me a sec.”

“OK.”

As Mac waited, he heard the heavy breathing and movement continue, then he heard the sound of something hitting the floor, followed by a moan.

Dennis opened the door.  His face was pale and gaunt-looking, his eyes glassy.  A thick film of sweat permeated his t-shirt.  “What do you want?” he croaked out.

Mac stared at him, aghast.  “Dennis, you look horrible.”

A look of fear sprang into Dennis’ eyes, and he became suddenly animated.  “Horrible?” he repeated in a small voice.  “Horrible in what way?”

“Horrible as in you look sick,” Mac answered.

Dennis relaxed.  “Oh, OK.” He exhaled heavily.  “That’s good.”

“No, that’s not good!” Mac cried, brushing past him into the room.  An oppressive odor of perspiration weighed in the air.  Facing Dennis, he placed his hands on his hips, flexing his biceps to indicate that he meant business.  “What’s going on?”

Dennis laughed nervously, eyes flitting around the room.  “What do you mean, what’s going on? I’ve just been doing a few strength exercises, that’s all.”

“Dennis,” Mac said, “I know you haven’t been eating.”

“I have!” Dennis protested.

“Eating an apple or some celery does not count as eating a meal, Den.”

Dennis raised his chin, defiant. “I’m dieting,” he said matter-of-factly.

_ “Dieting?  _ But you don’t  _ need  _ to be on a diet, man!”

Dennis gave Mac that weird, faraway look he sometimes got.  It scared Mac, like he wasn’t really seeing him, momentarily swallowed up in his own little world that displaced this one.  “You can always be thinner,” he stated, almost in a monotone, “look better . . .”

“Yeah, but it’s not healthy!” Mac shouted back, trying to bring his friend back to reality.  “Plus, you’re _already_ thin, dude.”

Dennis looked down at his shoes.  “Not according to Dee,” he said softly.

“Dee?” Understanding dawned upon Mac.  “This is about what she said at dinner a few nights ago, isn’t it?”

“Well . . .”

“Dennis, Dee only said that to you to get back at you for calling her face blotchy.”

Dennis sighed and, still looking down, said again in a small voice, “But she’s right, Mac.  My body isn’t up to par anymore.  I’ve  _ failed.  _ I’ve failed in living up to your guys’ expectations of me.”

Mac squinted, confused.  “What expectations?”

Dennis looked up at him warily, like a child waiting to be punished.  “Physical perfection.”

“Dennis,” Mac said, gesturing wildly with his hands, “that’s ridiculous.  No one expects you to look perfect, especially since we’re all getting older.  I mean, we’re not going to look young forever.”

Dennis leaped back as if he’d been stung, his eyes wide in alarm.  “No, Mac, I  _ am  _ going to look young forever,” he argued, “because of the discipline that I am employing right now.”

“Everyone else can slack off as much as they want.  They can eat, gain weight, whatever,  _ but not me! _ ” he screamed, jutting a thumb into his chest, pallid cheeks illuminated with a feverish glow that made him look deranged.  “ _ I  _ don’t slack off.   _ I  _ put in the necessary work to maintain peak physical form.   _ I  _ am  _ the golden god, _ _ and goddammit, I am going to look like a god! _ ”

He stopped screaming all at once.  A mist came over his eyes, he swayed unsteadily, and he collapsed in a faint.

“Dennis!” Mac exclaimed, terrified.  He rushed over to his fallen friend, kneeling beside him on the floor, and patted his clammy cheek.  “Dennis, Dennis!”

Dennis came to in a minute.  “Mac—what’s . . . what’s happening,” he whimpered, raising his head weakly and staring at him through a haze.

“You passed out, man,” Mac told him. He placed a strong, warm arm around Dennis’ shoulders, gently helping him up onto the bed.  “We have to get some food into you, fast.”

Dennis squirmed against his grip.  “No. No. Absolutely not,” he mumbled, eyelids fluttering.  He tried to get up, but Mac’s hands pressed firmly down, holding him in place.  “Mac,” he said louder, growing irritated, “get off of me!”

“No,” Mac said. “You need to eat, Dennis, and I’m not going to let you go until you promise to do that.”

“Alright, alright. I promise,” Dennis said through gritted teeth.

“Really?”

“Really.”

Mac released his grip and Dennis immediately rose from the bed and tried to stumble to the door.  He made it about halfway when he let out a low moan and collapsed again.  Mac raced over to him. This time Dennis hadn’t fainted, but had simply buckled out of sheer exhaustion.  His body was rebelling against him, Dennis realized, crying out in need. Reluctantly, he allowed Mac to hoist him back up and place him back onto the bed.  He looked up at his friend, whose face was creased in fear.  Then, squeezing his eyes tight, he relented, “Fine.  I’ll eat.”

Mac’s face brightened into that annoying puppy-dog smile of his.  “Great! What do you want?”

Dennis turned his head to the side, burying it into the pillow, and clenched his fists.  At last, he said, “A cheeseburger would be good.” 

“A cheeseburger,” he repeated, almost dreamily.  “And fries.”

“Coming right up!” Mac chirped.  He walked over to the door, paused in the threshold, and turned around, hand on the doorknob.  “Don’t move until I get back,” he ordered.

“Sure,” Dennis murmured, curling up into a fetal position. He almost laughed, almost cried, because he didn’t think he could move even if he wanted to; his body was throwing a revolt against him and he was too tired, too weak, too defeated to fight it anymore.  Then Mac was gone, and he allowed himself to drift . . .

  
  



	2. King of the Mountaintop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback for some teenage angst-flavored unhealthy sibling rivalry.

Dennis was sixteen and deep in the middle of a war.  He sat in his chair, staring challengingly into the eyes of his twin sister Dee, who glared back at him with equal fervor from across the kitchen table.  The hideous metal back brace that she wore to treat her scoliosis forced her into an unnaturally rigid position, preventing her from slouching, which she would have been doing considering that both she and Dennis had been skipping breakfast and lunch for the past three days.

Dennis examined her slyly.  “Give it up, sis.  You’re not going to beat me.  You don’t have the willpower.”

Dee’s blue eyes flared.  “Oh, I have plenty of willpower, brother.  And I  _ am  _ going to beat you.”

“We’ll see about that,  _ fatty _ .”

“Typical coming from a guy who looks more like a girl than I do,  _ faggot. _ ”

“Don’t be homophobic, you gangly bitch.”

“Stop stealing my mascara, then, asshole.”

“Aluminum Monster,” Dennis said.

“You son of a bitch!” Dee screeched, cracking. When she became angry, she made high-pitched squawking sounds, like a bird.  This combined with the fact that she looked like a bird with her pointed nose and long, skinny limbs encased in rows of silver bars made her a great source of entertainment for Dennis, so that tormenting her was an enjoyable pastime.

“What are you two brats yammering about now?” Frank Reynolds demanded as he walked into the kitchen.  Dressed in a suit and tie, he still managed to ooze sleaze and fox-like cunning, both qualities which served him well as a businessman.  He held out a hand, into which the maid placed a steaming cup of coffee. 

“Nothing, Dad,” the twins said at once, glowering at each other.

The maid deposited two more cups of coffee in front of them.  “Just coffee again, huh,” she commented.  “Are you children sure you’re not hungry for anything else?”

“Thank you, Josefina, but I’m not hungry,” Dennis said.  “Dee, are you hungry?”

“No,” Dee said.

Frank Reynolds gaped at his children and shook his head, thinking how on earth he could have possibly sired such snippy idiots.  “What the hell’s gotten into you two?” Then, realizing that he didn’t want to listen to the explanation, turned and waved his hand dismissively.  “You know what? I don’t care.  I’m gonna be late for work.” He snatched a bagel out of the maid’s hands just as she had finished spreading it with cream cheese and left the house.  

The twins raised the coffee to their lips and drank, each watching the other closely.

 

*

 

Lunchtime.  Dee sat at her usual table in the corner with Ingrid Nelson, also known throughout the school as Fatty Magoo.  She stared longingly at Ingrid’s tray, which was piled high with pizza, chocolate milk, potato chips, and cookies, feeling the hole in her stomach widen.  She then cast a dejected glance down at her own tray with only a bottled water.  Returning with ravenous eyes her attention to her friend’s lunch, she could feel her mouth opening, about to ask if she could spare some chips or a cookie, when she caught sight of Dennis staring at her with a wily smugness from the other side of the cafeteria.  He sipped from his bottle of water as if it were the only form of rejuvenation and nourishment that he required.  Stopping, he smiled at her, his lips curling upwards into a self-righteous smirk that lit up the sharp, pale contours of his face.  That goddamn asshole was showing off, she fumed.   _Well, two can play at that game._ She flashed him a fiery glare and picked up her water bottle.

 

*

 

Dennis watched his sister scowling at him with relish.  Forget food.  This was the only nutrition that he needed: the sweet taste of victory.  It was almost too easy, really.  For years, he’d been training his body to depend less and less on meals, so that it wasn’t difficult for him to sustain himself on as little as 700 calories a day.  Sure, it wasn’t  _ pleasant _ . Sure, it was a little miserable at times to see other people stuff themselves so casually and blithely with trash, having seemingly no regard for the damage they were doing to their physique.  It was even a little painful, the giant hollowness inside him, the twisting of his insides when he caught a whiff of something delectable and fattening.  But hey, no pain no gain, right?  What was the expression . . .  _ nothing tastes as good as thin feels,  _ he recalled, a line he’d picked up from a diet pill commercial, and he wondered at the wisdom that one found in such unexpected places.

 

*

 

The final conflict: Dee and Dennis stood in the bathroom, the tension between them thick and nerve-rattling.  Both had stripped out of their clothes to ensure the highest accuracy.  They faced the scale.

Dennis shivered in his Calvin Klein briefs, the cool white tile like ice under his bare feet.  Dee stared at her brother, realizing for the first time how skinny he’d become.  His frame had always been slender, thanks to a stringent diet he’d implemented, and their mother had encouraged, since the fourth grade, but now he looked downright bony.  Ribs poked through his skin, and there were dark purple shadows around his eyes.  A flower of concern blossomed inside her, but it was quickly swept away by a more passionate desire to win, to beat her golden twin brother at something, put the bastard in his place.

_ I’ve got this in the bag,  _ Dennis thought, glancing at his sister in her bra and underwear, back brace gone.  Seeing her completely, minus the metal contraption, he quickly sized her up and concluded that there was no way she could have lost more weight than he did last week.  In fact, he thought, stifling a snicker, it looked like she hadn’t lost weight at all.  Poor, foolish Dee.  She just didn’t have the same control over her body that Dennis had over his.

“Are you ready, Dee?” he asked her, grinning.

She narrowed her eyes at him, then crossed her arms, whipping her long blonde hair over her bare shoulders.  “If you’re so confident about it, why don’t you go first, bigshot.”

Dennis’ smile faded.

“Come on. Step on the scale, Dennis,” Dee prodded him.

Dennis looked down at the scale and turned away, biting his knuckle.  It had suddenly gotten difficult to breathe.  “No, err, why don’t you go first.”

Dee smiled, jubilantly, craftily, at him.  “What’s wrong, Dennis, afraid of what it will say?”

_ Yes.   _ But he would never admit that to Dee, not ever.  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant.   _ Remember Dennis,  _ he told himself,  _ you’re a winner.  Your body was sculpted to the proportions of Michelangelo’s David.  You can do this. _  Slowly, hesitantly, he stepped onto the scale.

Dee poked her head in to see for herself.  126.  Relief flooded through Dennis.  Five pounds.  He’d lost five pounds in one week.  He turned to Dee, beaming victoriously.  

Typically, Dee would be outraged by this situation, but instead she was disturbed.  She was no authority on healthy body conditions, but she was pretty sure that her brother weighed far too little for his height.

“Your turn,” he said to her.

She stepped back.  “Um, I don’t think so,” she said, studying his reaction.

He beamed wider.  “You have to, Dee.  I wanna see how much I’ve  _ destroyed  _ you these past two weeks.”

Dee considered what to say, carefully selecting her words.  “You know what, I give up.  You win.  You always win.  The game’s over, so let’s go downstairs and eat something to celebrate you beating me once again.”

She turned, expecting Dennis to follow, but of course he didn’t because he was Dennis and goddamn it, he never made things easy for her, ever, and instead stood there, looking at her with suspicion.

_ It’s a trap, _ he thought.  She just wanted him to eat, to lose, so that she’d take his place as the favorite child.  She was jealous.  She’d always been jealous of him, of how mother always loved him better and showered him with affection while neglecting and demeaning her, of how he was the coolest kid in the school while she was an outcast with her deformed spine.  He wasn’t going to fall for her tricks.

“No, I don’t think so,” Dennis told her.

Dee stared at him, looking anxious.  “Dennis, the game’s over.  You don’t have to fast anymore.”

“Oh, it’s never over, sis,” he said pointedly.

She threw up her hands.  “Fine, then you’ve left me no choice.  I’m telling Mom and Dad.”

He gasped.  “Don’t. You. Dare.”

She turned, howling, “Mom!” Dennis lunged for her and she took off running, calling down the staircase, “Mom!  Mom!”

Dennis chased her down, fingers tearing through his curly brown hair.  “You can’t do that!” he shrieked.  “You can’t do that!  That’s cheating!  Cheating, you goddamn bitch!”

He chased her into the living room, where their mother lounged on a plush maroon sofa watching a soap opera.

“Mom!” Dee yelled, panting.  “Dennis has been starving himself!”

“Don’t listen to her, mother!” Dennis insisted.  “She’s lying!”  It took all his strength to stand as a wave of dizziness came over him, prompted by the exertion of running down the stairs.

Their mother turned her cool gaze to them, annoyed by their interruption.  “Why, you do look rather thin, Dennis,” she remarked.  She smiled.  “It’s fantastic.  Good work, darling.”

Dennis glowed in the warmth of his mother’s approval.

To Dee, she said, “You know, it wouldn’t hurt for you to follow your brother’s example.”

Dee uttered a growl of frustration and stomped back up the stairs.

“That’s attractive,” their mother commented.

 

*

 

It was two in the morning and Dennis lay against his bed, the hunger pangs tearing through him, preventing sleep—he hadn’t slept well in a long time.  Wriggling in pain, he stared into the darkness of his room, and a seed of an urge planted itself in his brain, growing larger and larger.  It grew until he could no longer ignore it.  As he rose from his bed, shadows swam in front of his eyes, but leaning against the wall, he managed to slowly amble into the corridor.  Gripping the banister, he descended the stairs and tiptoed into the kitchen.  Dennis flipped on the light and moved as soundlessly as possible to the fridge.  Opening the door and seeing all the rows of lovely, glorious food, he felt all his hunger roaring to life inside him and the urge itching at his spine.  And somehow he found himself grabbing a plate of blueberry muffins the maid had baked earlier that day and shoveling them into his mouth rapidly, crumbs spilling onto his pajamas.  He ripped open a bag of deli turkey and devoured slices of slippery, salty meat, barely taking time to chew.  Moving to the freezer, he consumed a whole pint of chocolate chip ice cream, scraping up every last drop with a spoon and cherishing its sweet, gooey goodness.  Oh god, he had missed so much.  What had he been doing?  Oh, and it was all  _ so  _ delicious, so nice . . .

But as Dennis ate, he was aware of a sensation of helplessness that grew stronger, his breathing picking up, and a feeling of unreality sweeping over him.  It was as if he wasn’t really here, as if something else had taken possession of his body and he was powerless to stop it.  It was the complete and total loss of control.  

A half hour later, he was moaning in discomfort, hands clutching his distended abdomen.  It seemed like he’d eaten the entire contents of the kitchen.  He belched, feeling repugnant, hideous.  He had to undo this, pronto.

Dennis walked into the bathroom, making sure that the door was locked, and knelt before the toilet.

 


	3. Dynamic Duo in Effect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some MacDennis here.

“Heyo!  I’m back!” Mac announced, barging into the room holding up two greasy bags labeled Big Bob’s Burger Shack.  The smell of beef and crisp fries wafted towards Dennis, making his stomach growl.  Mac brought the food over to him and he sat up at once, eager, wet juices filling up his mouth.

The horrible joke of it all was, despite his fanaticism about discipline and physical prowess, Dennis was and always had been a comfort eater.  When he was angry or down or frustrated with the world, which was happening more and more often these days, a whole pizza with extra cheese and pepperoni never failed to make him feel better.  He loved junk food.  He loved carbs.  He loved chocolate.  All the things that a man in such shape as himself who wanted to stay in such shape was prohibited from eating.  And normally, he did forbid himself from eating those foods.  But when he felt bad, he couldn’t help but indulge.  Bingeing helped fill the giant, gaping hole inside him; it made him feel complete, satisfied, real in some way that was difficult to explain.

Afterwards, however, came the guilt punctuating the feeling of fullness, shame so that he had to purge the evidence of his weakness from his body.  No one else in the gang knew about his habit except for Mac, this because Dennis believed he was the only one he could trust to show just a little bit, not a whole lot, of his real, vulnerable self.  Mac knew his insecurities, Dennis thought warmly.  Mac knew his fears.  Mac took care of him.

Dennis opened his mouth to bite into the cheeseburger that Mac held up to it.  He chewed, smiling in ecstasy.  He sat up straighter, taking another bite.  Looking up at his friend with gratitude, he said, “Thanks.”

Mac radiated joy, his eyes moist with tenderness.  “You’re welcome, man.”

When Dennis finished the burger, Mac unwrapped his own and began chowing down while Dennis moved on to the fries.  “Hey Dennis,” Mac said after a while.

“What?” Dennis said, fry dangling between thumb and forefinger.

“I love you.”

Dennis smiled, then popped the fry into his mouth.  “I know, dude, I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's canon at this point that Dennis has some sort of eating disorder which for the most part seems to revolve around not eating enough. However, I've noticed through my obsessive viewing of this show evidence that he engages in binge eating as well. The most prominent examples of this are in Nightman Cometh when he stress-eats from the anxiety of rehearsing for Charlie's musical ("I'm eating because I'm very uncomfortable"), Frank's Pretty Woman when he helps Mac devour chimichangas following a scene in which he admits to skipping meals ("Chimichangas are delicious!") and in The Gang Group Dates when he is shown eating a giant breakfast after finding out his low dating score ("Half a star?"). I also wanted to include the flashback with Dee to showcase that the Reynolds twins are really just two sides of the same fucked up coin.


End file.
